More than
by Jeretarius
Summary: Who is Ramza Beoulve? Depends on who you ask. Is it possible he’s quite more than even his friends ever thought? Collection of one-shots.
1. More than a Friend

-1_A/N: First, a huge thanks to SerialRavist for beta-reading this for me. Second, I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics, Square-Enix does. _

**Chapter 1- More than a Friend?**

Delita curled in the fetal position on the cold stone floor. His teeth chattered. He felt alone. He had always been able to count on Teta's presence when he slept. Ever since she had outgrown the cradle the two of them shared a bed in their parents little one-room cottage. But she wasn't here now.

_Perhaps it's for the best_, he thought. Delita held it inside so long; he needed to be strong for her since the death of their parents less then a week ago. He never let on once he himself was fighting to hold back his tears. Now she was sleeping in the room of the youngest Beoulve sibling. Alma was her name, he recalled.

Earlier today, his poor sister had been petrified when Balbanes introduced the both of them to his three sons and daughter and explained they would be living with them. Alma had walked right up to Teta and introduced herself, and then proceeded to drag Teta to her room to play with her dolls. He'd checked up on her a little before dinner and watched from afar as the two girls happily played with one another. He hadn't intruded; after days of having nothing to do but to relive the death of their parents, it was good she'd found an escape, if only temporary.

Now she was tucked comfortably next to her new best friend. He was finally alone. He would finally allow himself to cry, but he couldn't. He reached down and all there was was a dull ache in his heart, but nothing more. No tears welled up, no sniffing, just an ache. Delita was proud of himself, after all, eight year olds don't cry.

"Wha' cha doin'?" A blond's head poked over the edge of the bed above him.

Delita wiped his sleeves across his face and put on his best grown-up voice. "Nothin'." His voice broke slightly, but hopefully not enough for the boy above him to notice.

"Why are you on the floor?" the boy asked inquisitively. "There's enough room in the bed for both of us."

_That's true enough_, Delita thought to himself. The bed was huge! When they had crawled into it earlier, to go to sleep, there had been enough room to spread out and barely tell there was another person on the other side of the bed. Delita shook his head. "I can't fall asleep," he finally answered the boy; his teeth chattering a little.

"Why?"

"The bed was too soft."

The boy laughed. "That's silly! Bed are suppose to be soft."

Silence settled in the darkened room. Delita hoped the boy was finally going to leave him alone and go back to sleep. The boy was nothing more then an irritating shadow since he had entered the Beoulve manor.

After watching his sister being towed away by Alma, the blond had insisted on dragging him through the large estate giving the "grand tour" of the place, something Delita said he wasn't interested in. The tour just happened to end at boy's room, where he had invited him to come and play. He had shaken his head to the invitation.

"So do you want to play tag?"

"No."

"Hide-and-Seek?"

"Not really."

"Constables and Thieves?"

"Nope."

Once he ran out of ideas he contented himself to walk by Delita's side as he went about strolling though the lands surrounding the Beoulve's manor. Sometime in silence, other time filled with the blond boy's monologue as Delita wasn't saying more then two words to any question.

"Aren't you cold?" The boy spoke into the darkness.

Delita let out an irritated sigh. _He just won't leave me alone!_ "No." He lied… well, sort of.

"Then why are your teeth chattering." The blond persisted on the point.

In truth, he was cold, but he was used to it. He and his sister had to share a ratted-out old blanket. It was a thin piece of fabric his sister had a horrible habit of hogging. He would wake up many a night without a shred of the blanket on him. He would roll over to see his sister wrapped up in the blanket and he couldn't bring himself to wake her. So he would just snuggle up next to Teta's wrapped body for warmth.

"I don't mind the cold," he finally told the boy who was still looking down at him from the perch on the bed.

"But you don't have to be cold."

"I'm happy on the ground," he said firmly.

"Oh…okay." The boy replied timidly, his head disappearing from above him.

Delita sighed and rolled onto his side, finally ridding himself of the annoyance, or at least till sunrise, when it would start again.

He heard the noise of flesh against the stone floor and looked over his shoulder to see two feet standing not to far from his head. His eyes slid up to the body until he saw the boy standing above him. "What are you doing?" Deltia asked, half annoyed, the other half truly wondering what this blond was thinking.

"If you're going to sleep on the floor so am I."

"You don't have to do that."

But the boy either didn't hear or didn't care. He pulled a blanket off the bed. Delita grasped the blanket and cradled it close to his body, feeling the warmth that still remained from the other's body. The blanket shifted as the other youth climbed underneath the cover, his back to Delita's back, but even then he could feel the warmth radiating from the boy's body. Soon the whole blanket was comfortably warm.

A smile pull at Delita's lips. "Thank you, Ramza," he finally said. The only response was the silent snoring coming from the other boy.

xxx

The crackling of the torch was the only sound as Delita walked on the soft grass; he had left his personal guards at the gate. Delita knelt after finding the spot he was looking for, next to broken ground. He bowed his head until he looked up at the gravestone, barely illuminated by the flickering torch light.

"Hello Alma…" he paused and gulped, "Ramza…"

A dull ache throb again in his heart. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen to you. I really thought we'd meet again some day when we last spoke at Zeltennia. I truly did…

"But damn it," Delita clenched his fist and pounded it into the ground. "I told you not to get involved. I told you to go home and leave it alone. Everything would have worked out just fine if you'd only would have listened to me. Why didn't you listen? Why did you have to be so damn foolish, so stubborn?"

His anger falter. "I guess you're just like me." He let out a half hearted laugh. "I never listened to you either, did I? We were just alike, even if we were never blood brothers…

"I married Ovelia." He changed the subject after a few seconds of silence. "I truly do love her, like I told you at Zeltennia. I would have given my life to give her the kingdom I promised. Now Ivalice is reunited and peace reigns and I would give my life again to keep peace in her… in our kingdom. It's the least I could do for the peasants. I can't make the crops grow or stop disease, but I can promise them peace and that nobles will never take advantage of them again.

"Isn't that we both fought for Ramza? Peace and equality? We were fighting together. I wasn't using you; Balmafula doesn't know anything." Anger again creeping into his voice, but he cleared it with a couple deep breaths and shake of his head.

He stood. "…There is so much more I wish to say; there's been so much unsaid between the two of us since Fort Zeakden. We use to share a lot of things, but I must leave for now. Ovelia's birthday is coming up. It would not do if I missed that day. I will come again."

Delita started to walk away but then paused. "You were always so strong; hell, we took on the entire world when we were but young men. I find it hard to believe you're really dead." He looked over his shoulder and gazed into the woods, almost expecting Ramza to be there. But he saw nothing but a darkened forest.

"Goodbye, brother," Delita barely whispered. He turned and walked away. For a moment he thought he was going to have to fight back the tears, but he didn't; after all, kings don't cry.


	2. More than Naive

**Chapter 2- More than Naïve?**

Gafgarion took an inconspicuous glance at his target as he took his first drink from his pint of ale.

_At least what I ordered was an ale, _Gafgarion grimaced, looking at the suspicious liquid in his mug. _This taste more like water with a piss aftertaste._

He slammed the mug down on the table. Part of its contents sloshed out onto the table, he debated whether it was a waste or not. He wiped the back of his sleeve against his bearded face and chanced another glance at his target, through the corner of his eye.

He couldn't believe his luck. Less than a month of trying to track the little pest down, there he was. The target seemed to be trying to hide. He was hunched over his seat, his shoulders slumped, his head hung. He looked like he was trying to disappear into his bar stool, which he nearly did. He was flanked by two men who looked huge even by Gafgarion's standards. They seemed to be telling jokes and poking fun at the poor kid. Elbowing him in the sides hard enough to almost knock him off his stool and then roaring with laughter. The target seemed unfazed by the harassment.

_Hard to believe he's a noble. Perhaps it's best he doesn't act like one, _Gafgarion considered, eyeing the other patrons of the tavern. He knew their kind. They were of the mind to kill first and then, perhaps, after the body had been properly ransacked, ask questions. That was if the victim looked like he couldn't defend himself and was worth any gil.

Not that his target looked like he was worth a centa-gil. His clothes were dirty and tattered. His hair had once been nearly as pale as his skin, but now both were darker, weathered, and smudged with dirt. In short he looked like he belonged in a dive like this.

_Why couldn't he have at chosen "The Behemoth 's Delight", _Gafgarion thought sourly, taking another draw from his mug. _At least I could get drunk off their "ale". I'll be lucky if I get a buzz even if my stomach is filled with this piss. At least I've finally found him._ Gafgarion thought happily wiping the grimace, or any expression that would portray emotions, from his face. _I've found him and now I can reap the benefits…_

xxx

Gafgarion walked the halls of Igros castle behind a servant. He took in the all too-familiar surroundings, the tapestries and paintings over the walls. The stained glass that would have spilled its colored light all over the white marble floor were it not already night outside. He knew these corridors. He hardly needed an escort to show him his way around this manor.

_So were meeting in the parlor, _Gafgarion observed, idly watching the little servant scurry along in front of him. The poor kid looked like he was petrified with fear, occasionally sneaking a glance back at him. The boy had, at least, to his credit, silenced a squeak every time their eyes met, but Gafgarion had already notice the distance between him and his escort slowly grow the further they walked along.

"We're here," the boy whispered, barely making eye contact. Gafgarion stopped as if he hadn't known where he was being led. The boy knocked on the door lightly.

"Enter," came the voice from the other side of the door, both commanding but gentle.

The boy ducked his head into the room. "Your guest is here, sire."

"Well, show him in Andrew." His host's voice grew lighter and friendlier.

The boy, Andrew, opened the door for Gafgarion, holding it as a barrier between the two of them.

"Welcome, Gafgarion Gaff," his host greeted as the door closed behind Gafgarion. His host spoke as if meeting a long lost friend or a long awaited dignitary. Gafgarion bowed his head in reply to this greeting.

"Would you like something to drink?" The Beoulve stood and walked over to the counter and poured a drink.

"No, thank you. You are too kind for your offer." Gafgarion bowed again. He hadn't lived as long as he had by drinking whatever a prospective client set in front of him, and wasn't going to start now. However, he did loathe having to turn down the offer of free alcohol. _What are the chances of a Beoulve poisoning someone anyways?_

"I hope your trip here was enjoyable." His host drank from his glass. "The weather has been rather mild for Feburary."

"Please, Lord Zalbag," Gafgarion cut his host off as politely as possible, "I'm not some noble you must make idle small talk with. You invited me here about a business proposition, so if you don't mind, could we dispense with the pleasantries and get down to business?"

"Of course," Zalbag cleared his throat. "My apologies, I'm not quiet use to hosting mercenaries… at least not for personal business. Please have a seat." Zalbag gestured at the chair on the other end of the table.

"No apology is necessary, Lord Zalbag.I just know you must be a busy man," Gafgarion smiled politely, "with other pressing matters on your hands. I would hate to waste your time."

Zalbag smiled back thinly, obviously reading Gafgarion for what he really meant- _quit wasting _my_ time and get to the point. _"As you know I have a younger brother, Ramza."

Gafgarion nodded. He knew the boy existed.

"He was recently dishonorably discharged from the Hokuten Knights," Zalbag continued. "It couldn't be helped; my hands were tied. Abandoning his post twice in less than a months time, the scuffle with Hokuten Knights at Fort Zeakden, and then killing the Sadalfas boy. Even I could not over look that.

"Despite the Sadalfas being a dishonored family, Limberry is making a huge to-do about it, and you'd think they be a little more forgiving after we rescued the Marquis." Zalbag sighed with the sigh of a man with too much on his plate. He momentarily closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "As if the tension between east and west wasn't bad enough. Dycedarg is still trying to clean up our brother's latest blunder.

"Even if he has caused my brother and I many a headache as of late, my father's dying wish was that my brother and I watch over him. I thought that would be a simple enough task as he was part of the Hokuten and I, the general. However, in light of these recent events, and with the rising tensions between Larg and Goltana as the king's health falters, I find this task increasingly difficult. So I wish for you to watch over him in my stead, and, of course, report back to me."

"Excuse me, General Zalbag, but you must have me confused with someone else. I do not baby-sit."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gafgarion, you misunderstood me. I'm not asking for you to baby-sit. I'm asking for you to take him under his wing. Apprentice him, if you will."

"I'm sorry to tell you, General, but there is no such thing as an apprentice position when you're a mercenary, which I'm sure you are well aware of," Gafgarion added quickly, not wishing to insult a possible client's intelligence. "Even if there was such a thing, I wouldn't be inclined to take on an apprentice. One slip up and you can be dead; it's a dangerous job and no one would trust their lives to an amateur." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Gafgarion wished he could recall them.

Zalbag arched his eyebrow. "My brother is no amateur. He went to the same military school as I. He graduated with top honors and was selected for his own command. He knows his way around a battlefield."

"That's not quiet what I meant. I'm sure he is a splendid fighter," Gafgarion lied, "but there is a huge difference between being a good soldier, following orders and being a mercenary. There's a lot more to being a mercenary than just fighting; there's finding work and the like. It takes a certain poise and mindset, which I have found lacking in many."

_Usually in nobles, _Gafgarion didn't say. A noble had never had to fend for himself, he just weren't worldly enough. "Most of the time, being a mercenary also means not having anyone above you giving you orders. You have to be able to think on your feet, be able to work _alone_." Gafgarion tried to emphasis the last word.

"You couldn't possibly want me to believe you always work alone."

Gafgarion considered his words. "No, but I only work with people for one mission and then move on. No long time partnerships or the like. Much simpler and cleaner that way."

Zalbag paused for a moment then tried a different tack. "Come now, Gafgarion, men like yourself, have a price."

"Doesn't every man?" Gafgarion countered with a smile.

Zalbag's face grew dim. "No, not every man."

"Even if I were considering taking this job, how much are you willing to pay me?"

"Ten thousand gil a month…"

A laugh escaped from Gafgarion's lips. "I'm sorry, Lord Zalbag, but that's hardly enough to pay for your brother's room and board little alone any money for me for watching over him."

Zalbag raised a hand to cut Gafgarion off. "You didn't let me finish. In addition, after a year's time of apprenticing him, I'll give you this." Zalbag reached under the table and produced a sheathed sword.

Gafgarion slowly let his hand drop below the table and reached for his own sword. Zalbag seemed to notice this and smiled back at Gafgarion as he slowly started to unsheathe the sword.

Gafgarion pushed away from the table ready to parry any blow. Half risen out of his chair a glint of red off the sword's blade caught his eye.

The world seemed to freeze. Well, Gafgarion Gaff froze, the rest of the world remained in motion; his eyes were locked on the sword. Zalbag finished unsheathing the blade and laid it down on the table.

"That's a…" Gafgarion finally found his voice.

"Yes," Zalbag stated offhandedly as if he really didn't know what it was, "it's been sitting in my family's armory for as long as I can remember, quite neglected, I'm afraid. I figured someone such as yourself would find it fascinating."

"That's a Blood Sword." Gafgarion finished, still staring at the sword that sat on the table. Quickly he realized he was gawking and recomposed himself to a face of neutrality. "May I?" Gafgarion asked gesturing towards the sword.

"Of course."

Gafgarion carefully laid his hand on the blade. It wasn't cold like the steel of a sword; it seemed to have a warmth, not absorbed but produced by itself. "So all I have to do is watch over your brother for a year and you'll let me have this?"

"Yes, this should let you know how serious I'm about this. And every year thereafter, while you're still watching over my brother, we'll see if there isn't something else in the Beoulve armory that might not interest you. So do we have a deal?"

Gafgarion finally tore his eyes away from the sword and to his host's face, now smiling at him. "No, we don't have a deal. The sword is all well and good, but it doesn't cover for the financial loss I will incur by having your brother with me."

"This sword is priceless."

"Yes, but what good is a sword if I've starved to death because I can't find work? My job requires my clients are willing to speak freely to me and not have it reach other ears, especially those ears of other nobility. Know how hard it will be have them speak freely, let alone hire me with a Beoulve standing right next to me?"

"You don't take jobs that work against the Beoulves' interests and by extension Gallione, the land you fought to protect when you were in the Touten Knights?" Zalbag asked, both of them knowing the answer to the question.

"Of course not." Gafgarion lied, they both knew it.

"I'm willing to go as high as thirty thousand gil a month."

"Far too low," Gafgarion countered. "At least one hundred thousand gil."

"Thirty thousand gil," Zalbag repeated.

Gafgarion smothered a sigh of annoyance. "I know you know how to negotiate. I give a little and you give a little until me meet somewhere in the middle."

"I very well know how to haggle Gafgarion, but I'm not. I told you the highest price I was willing to go, thirty thousand." Zalbag raised a hand cutting Gafgarion before he started. "We both know you were going to take the job as soon as I offered the Blood Sword to you. But I am willing to pay more because my brother was important to my father, and that makes him important to me. I'm willing to pay more, up to thirty thousand gil more."

Zalbag raised his hand again stopping Gafgarion's objection before the started. "Don't tell me it will barely cover room and board because, for one thing, I know how much it cost to room and board a mercenary. Also we both know when you split gil from a job with my brother, you're going to take gil right off the top, for his room and board before you give him his share. So my thirty thousand will be without expense."

A smile tug at his lips, but he repressed it. His reputation seemed to have proceeded himself. Then again, he knew Zalbag's type, they never entered anything without fully knowing the other person first.

"As for the jobs you take," Zalbag continued, "You don't have worry about Ramza being recognized. He isn't nearly as identifiable as you would have me believe. There are many ways to change his appearance if you are truly worried. Plus, he is just a young boy; his features will change as he matures into manhood.

"But, if you aren't interested I'm sure there is someone who would apprentice my brother. Surely they'll find the Blood Sword more enticing than you did." Zalbag smiled while twisting the dagger.

"That won't be necessary," Gafgarion tried to act nonchalant.

Zalbag had analyzed every part of their argument and then had rebutted Gafgarion's every objection. _Perhaps he is a better wordsmith and negotiator than his elder brother gives him credit. _"I will take your job and apprentice your brother. Now where will I find him?"

"That is part of the problem. I seem to have lost track of him. The last I saw of him was at Fort Zeakden and that was less then two weeks ago. I would have taken care of this issue earlier, but the Death Corps have been demanding of my time up until this point."

"So how do you expect me to find him?" Gafgarion demanded.

"Gafgarion," Zalbag said in a level tone, "if your reputation as a bounty hunter is well earned, you'll have no trouble tracking down my brother. I fear he isn't worldly enough to last long on his own, and he isn't bright enough to cover his tracks, so finding him shan't be difficult."

"Very well." Gafgarion stood, bowed, and headed for the door.

"Two more thing before you leave Gafgarion, Zalbag spoke before Gafgarion reached the other side of the parlor.

Gafgarion gritted his teeth. _This job gets more complicated by the second… _"Yes, my lord?" Gafgarion turned and faced his host with his neutral expression.

"Firstly, I do not wish for my brother to know you are working for me to watch over him. Secondly, my father instilled in my brother a high sense of honor. He may not wish to join you and become a mercenary. Gil won't sway him. He isn't one of those people who have their price."

"How then do you expect me to get him to join me?"

Zalbag smiled. He took the Blood Sword off the table and started to sheath it. "I'm sure you'll find a way."

"I'm sure I will," he mumbled under his breath. "Thank you, General Zalbag. It will be a pleasure working for you." Gafgarion said his usual spiel when he starting a job for anyone. He bowed and then walked out of the room. _I'll figure out a way, but first I've got to find the little bastard. _

xxx

Gafgarion looked down at his mug as Ramza rose out of his bar stool. Gafgarion quickly took a drink to hide the smirk on his face. _The kid can't hold his liquor if he got drunk off this ale. _He observed the glassy expression that covered the blond's expression. _Nope not just drunk, completely plastered. _Gafgarion corrected himself, watching the poor kid stumble for the door, barely making it.

Before the door could close behind the young man, four other men stood from a table beside the door and walked out right behind him.

Gafgarion considered the glass for a few more minutes, but then decided to finish the drink. He gulped down the rest of the unpalatable liquid, stood, left his obligatory zero percent tip, and walked out of the bar.

His brows furrowed momentarily as he looked up and down the darkened night streets and found no one there. Before he'd made it two paces from the door he could hear movement in the alley between the tavern and the building next to it.

He sighed. He was never one to get involved in the happenings of darkened alleys outside of taverns late at night. At least not until tonight.

"What's going on here?" Gafgarion asked in a jovial tone as he walked into the alley. He took several more steps before his eyes adjusted to the shadows.

There stood the four men that had followed the boy out of the tavern, each fully decked out in thieves' garb. They surrounded an indefinable darkened mass that lay on the ground; each thief continuing to kick it. It took a moment more before Gafgarion could clearly see the indefinable mass as Ramza, the boy he'd been hired to find, a huge gash on his temple spilling copious amounts of blood on to the trash strewn alley, the boy not letting out more then a whimper as the men continued their assault on him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Gafgarion roared. He grabbed the closest thief by the collar, lifted him off the ground and slammed him up against the wall, the dagger falling from the thief's hand in the process. The other thieves stopped their assault of the boy and froze in place, bewildered by Gafgarion's show of strength. They dared not move closer to Gafgarion who blocked the only way out of the alley.

Chancing a glance back at Ramza on the ground, Gafgarion turned back to the thief, their faces so close their noses nearly touched. "What the fuck are you doing?" Gafgarion barely whispered. "You were suppose to rough him up a little, even threaten his life, then I come to save the day. You weren't supposed to kill him." 

"He ain't dead," the thief slurred.

Gafgarion could smell the alcohol on the man's breath. _He got drunk before doing a job? And people wonder why I prefer to work alone? Amateurs! _"No, he isn't, but he soon might be. What the hell happened?"

"We tried to hold him against the wall, like you suggested, but he broke free. He started fighting, we knocked him down, but he kept getting up. Somewhere in the struggle someone's dagger got him in the temple. He wouldn't keep down so we had to kick him to keep him there. He just wouldn't stay down!"

"Yeah funny how that works, when someone gets attacked, they just don't lay down and die."

"That's not what I meant, he… well… but… I mean… You didn't tell us he was trained in combat."

"What does that matter?" Gafgarion yelled, for a moment forgetting where he was. He paused, recomposed himself, and started again. "There's four of you," he continued through gritted teeth, whispering yet again, "and only one of him. He was so drunk he could barely walk straight and you couldn't handle him?"

"He was… well…"

"Listen to me," Gafgarion cut him off. He didn't want to waste any more time listening to this man's sputtering slurred words put together by a drunken mind, while his prize was bleeding to death on the trash strewn ground of some dark alley. "If I ever see one of your compatriots again, I'll make sure it's a mistake they won't live long enough to regret."

A confused look passed over the man's face at the threat leveled at his friends and not him. A look of shock quickly replaced it. Gafgarion's own dagger ripped the man's throat open.

Gafgarion released him and the thief fell to the ground, dead. "Now you," Gafgarion growled, pointing the dagger, still dripping the blood of their leader, at them, "get lost now, before I change my mind and kill you immediately."

The thieves gave a wide birth, or as wide as one could in an alley, first to the boy and then Gafgarion as they exited.

Gafgarion made his way over to the prostrate figure on the ground. He carefully rolled the figure over.

Ramza let out something between a moan and a whimper as he was transferred on to his backside.

_Perhaps he's a better fighter then I thought. _Gafgarion considered for a moment. _Then again, I did hire the cheapest help I could find. So the fact he could take four of them on for awhile isn't saying much._

_Either way, this may work out better then expected. Instead of pretending to save him from some abstract threat, I really am saving his life. He'll have to feel like he owes me something even more now. Good thing I have a position open he can take to repay me. But first… _

"Stay with me." Gafgarion stared down at the blond boy; Ramza's eyes fluttered open and closed again. Gafgarion lightly slapped the boy on the cheek trying to keep they boy's senses here. _Come on, Ramza. Stay alive._

Ramza moaned again as if being awoken from a deep sleep. "I'm never going to drink again," the boy slurred slowly slipping back to reality.

Gafgarion smiled back at the figure, trying to remember how many times he himself had made the very same vow in the morning after a night of revelry and excess. "Is that so?" Gafgarion easily lifted Ramza off the ground and positioned him over his shoulders.

"Yes," Gafgarion could hear Ramza continue to babble. "I'm only going to drink milk at bars from now on."

_The boy is clearly delusional, _Gafgarion thought, picking up his pace towards the closest white mage or chemist office.

xxx

"Give it up Ramza." Gafgarion brought his sword around, slashing the air. Several paces away, Ramza screamed as some unseen blade sliced across his forehead. Blood gushed out of this new wound and coalesce in the air. It drifted over to Gafgarion and swirled around him till it disappeared. "You can't win."

The youth stumbled back and hit a wall of Lionel Castle. He fell to his knees coughing, dotting his hand red with blood. Ramza ruffled around in his bag, pulled out, and downed a potion. He looked into the empty satchel and threw it aside.

Gafgarion took a moment to considered the pathetic form in front of him bathed in moonlight, kneeling on the ground, gasping for air. Zalbag had been right, his brother really wasn't worldly to survive on his own, but he had picked up on that fairly quickly. Ramza now knew how to make it in the world. However, there was one thing Ramza remained ignorant of to this very day; some would have called it a "sense of honor," Gafgarion called it not knowing the way the world worked.

Gafgarion tired to be patient. Eventually, after enough prodding, Ramza had told him about the events of Fort Zeakden. He knew Ramza had been traumatized by it. He understood Ramza's hesitance or outright refusal to do jobs he saw as "unjust", "evil", or other such nonsensical words. He had waited, but the days stretched into weeks and weeks stretched into months and Ramza wouldn't budge.

He had tried to explain it hundreds of times to Ramza, but he wouldn't listen to reason. He told him that just because they didn't do the job didn't mean that the job wasn't done, it meant someone else got paid for doing it. It made economical sense that they do it over someone else. But such logic was lost on Ramza.

At least his next associate, Rad, had understood the way the real world worked. He knew what it takes to be a real mercenary. Thanks to Rad he had been able to keep a few jobs that Ramza would have been otherwise unwilling to work. He just kept Ramza in the dark,

over on the side doing other important things while he and Rad did the real work.

Despite his deficiencies Gafgarion had found the economic sense of taking on long time partners. It meant he could take bigger jobs that paid better money without having to find temporary help. The bonus of the blood sword was just an extra. _He's still useful…_

"Come on Ramza, we can walk away from all of this. Just say the word and I'll call off the attack. You're friends will be safe. We can leave this place. We'll just pretend this job never happened. Things will go back to normal."

Half hearted laughter filled the air. Gafgarion Gaff was shocked by the response. "Is it just that easy for you Gafgarion? Just imagine that it never happened and the past disappears along with all the guilt? No," Ramza shook his head. "it's not that easy. I will save the princess. I will protect her!"

Gafgarion snorted. "Protect her? Look at yourself Ramza, you can't even protect yourself little alone someone else." Ramza showed the first signs of life when his eyes flashed up to meet Gafgarion's. The boy tried to conjure up his best angry face, it was down right pitiful.

"Just listen to logic Ramza." Gafgarion tired a different tack "What sort of safety can you offer the princess? You took her to the one place you thought she'd be safe, the church, and see how well that worked out? So if you had her where would you take her now? Larg, Goltana, the church and the lands they control are no safe haven for her. So you would have her join you as you forage from the land where wild beast abound? Some safety you offer! She is safe were she is. Unless, that is you don't trust your friend, Delita?" Gafgarion watched as Ramza seemed to think about the question.

"You see," Gafgarion cut in before Ramza could answer, "your friend has moved past the death of his sister."

"No, he hasn't," Ramza shot back vehemently.

"Perhaps not," Gafgarion conceded, "but at least he has seen the way the world works. He doesn't have a problem getting his hands dirty and it was his sister who died. No, for all this talk about Teta, it is you cowering, hiding in her shadow, using her death to…"

Gafgarion never got to finish the thought. Ramza came charging at Gafgarion at a speed and reckless abandoned he had never seen in the young man before. Over the noise of clashing steal and Ramza's battle cry, Gafgarion heard the clank of the gate of Lionel castle as it opened up. He didn't have time to chance a look at the gate, his attention was fully on Ramza. He parried another blow and tried to bring his sword around to perform the Night Sword technique, but Ramza bashed the sword aside.

Something warm and wet his cheeks as he parried another blow. It took a moment before he realized what it was. With each wild swing more and more blood gushed and was thrown from the cuts on Ramza's arms. The grass below slowing being painted crimson.

"Ramza you can't continue like this. You're going to kill yourself."

Gafgarion parried another savage blow. This time though when the blades crossed there was unfamiliar jarring effect. Gafgarion had but a moment before having to parry again to witness a crack creep along the length of the Blood Sword's blade.

Their swords met again, this time the Blood Sword shattered. The blade seemed to fragment into a million pieces. Each piece grabbing the moon light and reflecting it back in crimson. The handle fell from Gafgarion's hands and hit the ground with a dull thud. For a second he gazed in abject horror at his prize.

Another hit connected with Gafgarion. This time it was with the flat side of the blade. It was delivered with such force it sent Gafgarion sprawling to the ground. Ramza stood towering above him and laid the tip of his sword at Gafgarion's throat. His face was bathed in blood and a fury Gafgarion had never seen before. He stared down at Gafgarion; his eyes danced with rage And Gafgarion waited for death.

Seconds passed. The only way Gafgarion knew that time even still moving was the handful of haggard breaths that seemed to wash over Ramza's body. Slowly Ramza's features started to soften after being contorted in rage. The frenzy faded from his eyes. The transformation took mere seconds to complete. Ramza lifted his sword from it's resting spot on Gafgarion's neck and sheathed the blade. He turned and walked away towards his friends and the battle outside the gate.

"What are you doing?" Gafgarion screamed at the departing figure. Ramza didn't even slow. "You're leaving me alive? You fool! You have to know I will come at you again. The church pays good gil and you chose to oppose them. I don't need your pity. It gets you nothing!"

Ramza didn't even pause or look back, "Goodbye, Gafgarion."

Gafgarion staggered to his feet. This boy had just destroyed Blood Sword and now he was just going to be dismissive? He was not to be ignored! He pulled out his dagger and charged.

A shot rang out. Gafgarion staggered back the dagger dropping from his hand. He gazed down at his armor to find a small hole pierced his chestplate. Blood started to seep from the hole and run over his hands. All Gafgarion could do was stare at it in shock. Finally he tore his eyes away and gazed up at Ramza's wide, shocked eyes. Ramza turned to look back at his friend just outside of the gate.

"Mustadio, no!" He screamed at his friend. He turned and ran to Gafgarion.

"I'm sorry, I thought he was going to kill you. I just acted."

Gafgarion's eyes closed as his weight pull him backwards.

A hand lightly slapped at his cheek. Gafgarion eyes barely opened, Ramza peered down at him. Through heavy lids Gafgarion thought he saw tears welling up in Ramza's eyes.

"Stay with me. We'll get you to a chemist office. You're going to be fine."

Gafgarion smiled. _Just as dumb as ever._

Darkness.


	3. More than an Enigma

-1**Chapter 3- More than an Enigma?**

"I want to go with you! I'll be no trouble to you, I swear it!"

Agrias eyed the young blonde mercenary. He had been something of an enigma; she had known as soon as she had set her eyes on him. An enigma she hadn't the luxury of time to figure out now. She shook her head. It little mattered; Gafgarion wasn't about to join the pursuit.

"Come Alicia, Lavian, we must be on our way," Agrias ignored the man. Gafgarion would handle this naïve mercenary on the look for adventure.

"Nonsense, Ramza! This is no concern of ours!"

_As predicted._ Agrias thought with a bit of a smile.

"I must go! I must know if it's truly him!"

"You mean, that boy you saw?"

Agrias slowed. _The boy you saw? _She turned her head in time to see him nod. Did this Ramza know the kidnapper? She wanted to turn around and beat whatever information this boy held about the kidnapper, but she doubted he would truly hold any useful information. It would be time wasted. She needed to go. She continued to walk away.

"You're stubborn as a mule. Don't cry to me for help if something happens!"

Agrias' blood turned cold. Gafgarion bowed to the wishes of a subordinate? She knew Gafgarion, or at least knew Gafgarion's type. They would mock authority at every turn, but that was only because they were galled by having to be under someone else's thumb. But they did love lording over others. The fact that he would listen to an underlining was just odd, but perhaps not the most disturbing.

_There's no money in it._ Agrias' mind raged. _Why would he want to come? _It just didn't make sense. Gafgarion had a reputation, or as much of a reputation as a mid-level sellsword could have. If there wasn't money in it Gafgarion wasn't there.

There wouldn't be a reward for retrieving the princess. Agrias didn't have to be a political savant to know that Larg and Dycedarg despised the fact that Princess Ovelia even existed. The fact that they would rather send mercenaries than their own men to escort her was proof enough. So Gafgarion would know that as well. And yet he still came. It was nonsense.

"Who said I would have you?" Agrias didn't even bother stopping, but left Orbonne Monastery to her back, Alicia and Lavian flanking her on either side.

"Don't be naïve, Agrias."

Just the sound of Gafgarion's voice grated on her. But to be called naïve by such a knave was far worse.

"You don't think this kidnapper worked alone. He probably has a dozen men waiting for him. You three can't take them on all by yourself. You need our help."

"I need no such thing. And since when have you known anything of charity?" Agrias countered coolly.

Gafgarion scoffed. "This is no charity. I planned on this job for the next two weeks so I have nothing lined up. Additionally, Rad could always sharpen his fighting skills. Heaven knows Ramza needs it." His voice did not hide the admiration he had for the former and his contempt for the latter.

Agrias winced at Gafgarion's words. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to know that Ramza was well within ear range of Gafgarion's words. Agrias couldn't imagine mocking her apprentices, even if they were far more willing to practice their tongue wagging then they were their sword skills. Riding them hard, certainly, but to openly mock them? Never.

She had seen Ramza fight earlier and he had fought valiantly and skillfully, at least for a mercenary. Rad's actions had been less than inspiring. He'd hung around towards the back, away from any fighting, only making hesitant attacks from time to time. If anyone needed practice it was the other way around. But it wasn't her place to stick her nose into such things. "There is always work to be found in Dorter for your kind."

"Dorter jobs never pay well," was Gafgarion's short reply. He theatrically stifled a yawn like the whole conversation made him bored, then skulked back to Rad and started talking to the squire.

Agrias sighed. It appeared to be useless to try to rid her group of them. And as much as she loathed to admit it, she could really use their help.

_Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. _The old dictum came to her mind. Though it was hard to tell which group these three mercenaries fell into. _Speaking of potential enemies. _"Alicia, please keep this pace. I have someone I wish to talk to."

"Of course, my lady. And neither of us will speak of it if Gafgarion goes missing between here and Dorter," the blond whispered conspiratorially. Her counterpart laughed. Agrias decided just to roll her eyes as she made her way back to a lone figure trudging along behind them.

"Hello, Ramza was it?" Agrias greeted the blond man.

"Hello, Lady Oaks," the boy looked up from staring at the ground.

"Please, call me Agrias."

"Okay, Lady Agrias."

_Is the kid mocking me? _She looked into his eyes and instead saw sincerity. _That's odd. _It was just so uncommon for mercenaries to show the least bit of respect. Being respectful didn't get you more money and it wasn't as if they were looking for a promotion. It was hard to get mercenaries to call you by your title, but it seemed almost second nature to this boy. _What are you Ramza_?

An unsettling silence settled over them both. Agrias arranged her thoughts wondering how best to approach the subject. She hated to pry, however, the princess's safety counted on it. She'd never been one for beating around the bush; best just to be blunt. "You know the kidnapper." It wasn't a question.

Ramza nodded in response. Silence.

"He owe you money or something?" Agrias went for the most obvious answer. It sure would make a lot of pieces fall into place.

Ramza let out a half-hearted laugh. "No." He didn't elaborate.

"How do you know him?"

"We were," Ramza paused as he seemed to consider his words, "acquaintances."

Agrias arched an eyebrow. "Acquaintances?"

Ramza's eyes grew distant before he looked back at the ground. "We were friends," another pause, "more than friends. At least I thought so." He shook his head.

"You two meet at the academy?"

Ramza's head shot up, his eyes grew wide. "How did you…?"

Agrais held up a hand. "Please, Ramza. They don't appoint bumbling fools as guardians for princesses. I can tell the difference between a soldier who graduated from an academy and one who went to boot camp. Despite how much you try to hide it, you carry yourself too well, in a way no common foot soldier could." Agrias watched Ramza's face closely as she paid him the compliment. There was no noticeable difference except for a sigh.

"Yes, we graduated from Gariland Academy together."

"Gariland? How did he come to be in the services of Goltana, then?" It didn't add up, or it was a carefully crafted lie. If Ramza had indeed graduated from Gariland that meant he had some fealty to Larg and perhaps that was meant to let her guard down. Of course the fact that he was no longer part of Larg's army spoke volumes.

Ramza couldn't have been more than a year or three out of the academy. Lords were never ones to casually throw away freshly-minted graduates, especially from the academy, _especially_ with the current man shortage. What could have Ramza done to get himself thrown out of the army? It seemed the more she learned about him the more enigmatic he became.

"I don't know," Ramza's words shook her out of her thoughts.

"You don't know?" Agrias hated the sound of her voice, she hated prying, but the princess was counting on her. She couldn't very well rescue the princess only to have herself stabbed in the back by her own party.

Ramza sighed. "It's a long story."

"So you do know?" Agrias arched an eyebrow.

"Yes… partly. Like I said, 'it's a long story.'"

"We've got a lot of time." Agrias gestured to the forest in front of them.

"I know why you are asking questions, but answers I have won't help you find the princess or her kidnapper. Apparently I didn't know Delita as well as I thought."

"Why don't you let me judge if the information is useful or not?"

Ramza closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. "It happened about a year ago…"

xxx

The sound of a whetstone against steel effectively killed the silence of the warm summer night. Agrias was more than capable of sitting silently during her watch, but with Orbonne Monastery looming on the horizon every pore of her body seemed to exude nervous energy. She wouldn't give her self to mindless fiddling so she put this energy to more effective use.

Agrias didn't appear to be alone in her nervousness. Most others had retired to their sleeping maps with an exception of one lone figure. As seem to be his ritual whenever they got close to his sister, he sat in front of the crackling fire. His knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his leg. Nervously chewing on his bottom lip, in deep contemplation.

He seemed to have noticed her gaze settle on him, because his eyes left the fire and met hers. Agrias tried to give him a reassuring smile she didn't feel. They had been so close to his sister on numerous other occasions only to have her and her captors alike slip right through their fingers. She hated the way it seemed to eat Ramza up on the inside, it was painfully obvious to see. It was startling how open Ramza's eyes and face where. You could look at them and see his every thought.

Ramza broaden his own undying smile, though she could easily tell his heart wasn't behind it either. She turned back around to face outside the camp and leave Ramza to his thoughts.

It was kind of humorous actually, she had once thought Ramza an enigma. The day they had met he had finally told her his story but only in the vaguest of terms, which had only set her more on edge. But as she had gotten to know the man he had transcended every title he labored under; from Beolve to mercenary to heretic, and beyond. Despite transcending these titles Ramza remained quite simple

She had heard that men were easy creatures to understand. Their desires were simple and two-fold. Usually when people said that they were thinking of something more base than what Agrias was thinking now.

Ramza stood for honor and justice. Ideas many paid lip service to, but it was something Ramza fought for every day. His every breath was used to make these principles a reality in a world that had seen little of either for years. Agrias wasn't one to romanticize things, but she couldn't help but feel that Ramza had come to personify these traits. Even if he refused to see it himself.

His desires were two-fold as well. They were rather simple too. He wanted peace, something that Ivalice had also been in short supply as of late. Men with power would pay lip service to it also, and then send their men off to war to fight the other side which was said to be threatening this peace. But Ramza had shed his own blood for peace. He had actually brought a tentative peace at Bethla Garrison. A peace which Agrias hoped would last, for the people's sake and the sake of Princess Ovelia.

His second desire was to protect his sister. He had traveled to every corner of the known world to do so, but he had not done it alone. He had friends with him. He hadn't lied to them to deceive them into following him. He held nothing back; he was an open book. It didn't matter if you had been with the group as long as she had or if you had been a recent joiner like Meliadoul, it was hard to turn your back on this man. His sense of honor and nobility was infectious.

If Agrias hadn't been so on edge that day she may have seen that Ramza was never an enigma. He was just a man.


	4. More than a Storyteller

**Chapter 4- More than a Storyteller?**

Ovelia was use to the quiet of the monastery; a silence that only grew as night set in. Everyone went to sleep around the same time and the monastery's thick walls muted what ever noise were going on outside them. But here, outside, noise abounded. Off in the distance she could hear the dull roar of Zirekile Falls. A little closer was the crackle of the campfire, and right next her was Agrias as she continued her ministrations.

"Are you okay?" Agrias asked, perhaps for the thirtieth time.

Ovelia smiled, "Yes, Agrias I'm okay."

"He didn't hurt you did he?" Agrias asked. Ovelia guessed it was the twentieth time that question had resurfaced.

"No," Ovelia stated barely above a whisper.

Agrias gave her a peculiar look. "Do I have to remind you that he kidnapped you?"

Ovelia almost giggled at the absurd question. But Agrias never joked so she knew she was expected to answer. "No. Why?"

"Because Ovelia, you get the strangest look on your face when I mention him. I want to be sure he didn't harm you in anyway."

Ovelia couldn't help but notice Agrias had yet to call him by his name. "Delita is a nice man."

"No!" Agrias barked. Both jumped at the outburst. Agrias sighed and smoothed her hair, recomposing herself. She was quieter now but her voice still growled. "Nice men do not go around kidnapping princesses. Only evil men do that."

Ovelia couldn't help but fidget under all the stares directed at her. Agrias was giving her a rather pointed look trying to read something on her face. Alicia and Lavian both were looking in their direction after Agrias' outburst. The newest addition to their group seemed unaffected by the latest eruption. He sat several paces away. His back to the campfire as if to give the women their privacy. He hadn't even so much as twitched the entire time he had been there.

She knew Agrias was right. At the same time she couldn't expect Agrias to understand. Agrias had never been left in a monastery for most of her life with only Simon and the other people of the monastic order to keep her company. Completely cut off from the outside world. Only knowing those walls and nothing of the news from outside of them. No way to spend the time but in learning and quiet contemplation.

That had only changed, even if slightly, with the arrival of Alma. Most of the activities Alma wanted to invest her time in was frowned on by many of monastery workers and elicited a smile and a sigh from Simon. Alma thought it was great fun to be chased around the monastery with priests following her telling her she was acting most un-lady like.

Perhaps the thing Alma liked to do the most that didn't get her scowls from others was to tell stories; something she did with enthusiasm. Simon told stories as well, but there were stories from the scriptures and church history. The stories always seemed so stiff and distant. Even the wars and battles were somehow mundane in the retelling. They were always told with a lesson in mind, some moral to the story.

Alma's stories, however, were more lively, more vibrant. She had a knack for the dramatic. Alma would jump about the room, and tables and beds if no one was watching, telling the story. Ovelia couldn't help but smile and be enthralled as her friend re-enacted every motion of the story. She would yell and scream during the loud parts and sit down and whisper during the quiet times only to explode again when the action started anew.

Ovelia once had asked her where she got the imagination for such stories. Ovelia remembers it well because it had been the only time she had seen her friend blush. Alma had looked down and whispered that she hadn't come up with them, that they were, in fact, stories her brother would tell her. Just as quickly, the moment past and her friend returned to her boisterous self.

There were many stories. There was the one about a princess that was locked in towers by an evil relative. There she sat until one day a knight in shining armor arrived and rescued her; whisk her away to life happily ever after.

Or the tale of two young people that fell in love, but were forced to flee from their feuding families. They were hunted by the armies of both, but soon they escaped from their pursuers to settle down for life happily ever after.

She supposed people would have told her that they were nothing more then stories. Sure they were stories, but they were also so much more to her. They were the aspirations for her life. After merely existing in seclusion and solitude, she wanted her own story. Perhaps not so dramatic as the stories Alma had told, but something more.

Now she had what she had so desperately wanted. She had been rescued from her tower by a knight in shining armor. She was on the run for her life from the entirety of the divide political structure of Ivalice. Ovelia knew she should be petrified to be in the circumstances she was, and part of her was. But now she had her friends with her, and perhaps with their help, she would make it to happily ever after.

xxx

Ovelia continued to stare down at the words on the parchment even as they started to smudge. It took her a moment to realize it was her tears causing the ink to run.

In a moment of fury she crumbled the parchment into a ball, but all too suddenly the fury vanished and nothing came to replace it. All she felt was… empty. Her fingers released the balled parchment and let it fall to the grass below. A faint breezed seized it and blew it to the other end of the courtyard. Her gazed did not follow it instead she continued to stare down at the grass blankly as tears ran down her face.

In a deep part of Ovelia's heart she had always known the truth. After all, Agrias had promised to return and she always kept her promises. Ovelia knew only one thing would bar Agrias from returning to her side. Therefore, she knew what Olan's letter would say before she read it, but she read it anyways. It ruthlessly crushed the last flickering light of hope.

Agrias was dead.

Ovelia made excuses for Delita. Surely he knew better then her. Perhaps the world was a better place without Goltana. Queen Ruvelia was evil and deserved to be locked up. He was doing it for her, surely she should forgive him his every transgression if it was done for her. Every scheme excused. Every betrayal dismissed. Every death absolved. She turned a blind eye to it all because he was her knight in shining armor.

She only realized now that she had unleashed a monster on Ivalice. She didn't expect Delita to care about Agrias death; the two of them had only met briefly on two occasions. However, Ramza was dead too. Delita had sent his own best friend to his death without so much as a blink of an eye. He manipulated his friends until they were of no use to him and then cast them aside like a lame chocobo.

If that was how he treated his "friends" then how would he treat his subjects, people he hardly knew. Would he feel underlings were just as disposable as friends, even more so? She had unleashed on the Ivalice the worst monarch they had ever seen and she was just as guilt for letting him do it all. It was all done in her name and she sat idly by and watched it happen.

Her fingers went down to clench her dress in anger, but instead they found the dagger she had used to break the seal on the letter. The last token she had received from Agrias, whom she would never see again.

She had been so naïve. She had deluded herself into believing in fairy tales. She wanted to believe in knights in shining armor that rescued princesses from towering spires and vanquished their evil relatives. And that is what she had gotten, but this wasn't how it was suppose end up.

"I thought I might find you here. Everyone has been looking for you."

His voice breaks into her thoughts. How she hates the sound of it now. Her knuckles whiten, her grip on the dagger tightens.

For a moment another tale comes to her mind, but she ruthlessly crushes the thought, for they are foolish. There is no such thing as happily ever after.

Ovelia lunges.


	5. More than a Heretic

**Chapter 5- The Hands of a Heretic (More than a Heretic?)**

Rafa looked at the shadowy visage of one Ramza Beoulve. They fled to this darkened basement after the battle against her brother at Yardow. She still was unsettled and ill at ease. It was not only her confrontation with her brother only minutes before that made her feel that way; she did not completely trust the man sitting across from her.

It was not in her nature to be suspicious of others, but after what she had found out about her "father", what he had done to her village, and now even her brother had turned against her for that beast of a man, she found it hard to trust her instincts. Instincts which told her to believe the best in others, instinct to trust.

This was only exasperated by this boy… this man. The facts she knew about Ramza Beoulve and what she saw didn't add up. Her eyes penetrated the darkness of the basement and peered into his eyes, but she couldn't find what she thought she would and that disturbed her…

xxx

"So here you are, Malak. He'll be here soon," a Riovanes ninja spoke, breaking into her and her brother's conversation.

"I know. It's all set…"

"Malak…" Rafa barely whispered his name, her eyes slowly filling with tears she couldn't and wouldn't let fall. It hadn't been the words of the earlier conversation that had hurt her the most. No, it had been the look in Malak's eyes. Eyes of complete venom for her! His only living relative, his own sister!

"Here he comes…!"

Rafa didn't know what she was doing. She just let her instinct take over and at that moment they were telling her she was safer with these strangers she was sent here to kill, than she did with her own blood. She was running to them before she even realized it. The next words out of the ninja's mouth broke her out of her daze and made her stumble. "Heretic Ramza!"

Heretic?

Rafa, herself, wasn't a believer in the Glabados church, but it was a far cry from being a heretic. Heretics, she had been told, were people who took Ajora's words and twisted them to fit their own perverted view of the world.

Even though she didn't believe Ajora was god, she found his teachings of love and peace to be quite admirable. So anyone willing to twist those words were deserving of the title heretic. Grand Duke Barinten had told her of heretics who would justify stealing, murder, infant sacrifices, and other crimes of varying gruesomeness by twisting Ajora's teachings. Heretics she and her brother had been sent out to kill.

She had always felt great apprehensions and guilt over the deaths of the people the duke forced them to kill, but for heretics she made an special exemption. Heretics deserved to die. They were, to put it quite simply, evil.

It was already too late; her die had been cast. She looked back at her brother. The look in his eyes nearly killed her.

Her brother had a bit of a temper and was usually upset at the world at large, but his eyes always softened when he looked at her, and now that look was gone. He looked at her as he did the rest of the world. That killed her.

Rafa could understand Malak's fury, but it still cut to her soul the words came out of his mouth.

"Pay my sister no heed! I will put an end to her defiance!"

She had little time to ponder the sentence, but even if Malak had not meant to kill her, but to drag her back to Riovanes, it might as well have been a death sentence. A slow death withering away. Killing in the day and being frightened at night, praying he would not come and enter her bed.

Rafa knew she was trapped between a rock and a hard place. "Help!" she screamed as she ran to the motley crew of three heretics, but she already knew she would never make it to safety in time.

She could hear the ninjas moving, or more properly she heard silence which was far more deadly where ninjas were concerned. She heard the summoner's chanting, her brother urging them forward. Rafa chanced a look over her shoulder and saw a ninja take a perch on top the thick city walls. He shoved his hand into a pouch and retrieved a shuriken, which he brought back to throw.

She had been so concerned by what was happening behind her, she hadn't notice what was going on in front of her. A hand grabbed hers and yanked her forward. She stumbled and then fell to the ground in the shadow of something.

That was when she heard the all-too-familiar sound of a shuriken, whistling as it cut through the air. She winced her eyes closed and waited for impact.

Within moments the whistling stopped, but no pain course through her body. _Perhaps he was accurate enough to kill me on his first throw._

She opened her eyes and looked up. Standing above her was a man. _Maybe I am in heaven, _she thought, gazing at the guarding angel above her.

_He must be an angel. _His blond shaggy hair, that covered his face, was caught by the sun, making it glow like a halo. The armor he wore was like the armor of angels she had seen in many paintings.

She knew she wasn't in heaven when he looked up at her. His eyes were watering, clearly fighting back the pain from the shuriken he had taken for her. "You okay?" he asked with a smile.

xxx

It had only been maybe half an hour since the incident and Rafa had played it through her head several times, all the while healing and bandaging the wound this soldier had gotten while protecting her.

It was a skill she loved, but hardly ever got to use; she spent too much of her time killing. In a way healing seemed to get a little of the blood off her hands. It lightened her conscience, if only slightly. She had just finished bandaging his back and he slipped on his shirt. Then he turned to face her. Rafa hoped the darkness of the room would hide the blush she knew was coloring her cheeks.

She summoned all her courage and then brought her eyes up to meet his and stared into them. It didn't make sense. What kind of heretic, no, even what kind of man, would risk his life and take a shuriken for a stranger? Then not only fight her brother but keep her protected throughout the fight? She hadn't shared but a few words with this heretic, but now… now she had to ask questions.

"And you fight these men, when fighting them means you must be labeled a heretic? Why would you do such a thing?…"

She needed to be sure; she had to know, would she be safe with this heretic?

xxx

Rafa inspected the ship with great apprehension. It didn't look like it should even be in one piece, little alone floating, and on top of that, floating in the air like it did. She didn't know if she dared trust the vessel with her weight.

That was just silly she knew; other friends had already crossed onto the floating airship and they weighed more with their armor, shields, and weapons.

Having traveled to the very bowels of hell with her friends, she wasn't about to let some rickety old ship slow her. She wasn't going to stop now.

She took a deep breath and step onto the ship, it seemed to moan with her added weight. But that was silly: the ship had been moaning and groaning before anyone had stepped foot on it.

She took several more steps before her foot caught a plank and she fell forward. Her fall was stopped short when a hand caught her. A blush came to her cheeks.

After all, she was an assassin! She was supposed to be stealthy and light-footed, not stumbling over herself. But her feet seemed to find unsure footing more often since he had shown up. And now, as she did so many times, she hoped her dark complexion would cover those blushes which seemed to come with greater frequency. She didn't have to look to know whose hands had caught her. She had gotten to know those hands in the past few months.

Hands that cupped around his mouth as he shouted his friends forward into battle, always from the front, never from the back.

Hands that pulled Mustadio to safety as he nearly fell off a cliff side while fighting at Doguola Pass. Hands that wielded a sword with such great accuracy and deftness that he had defeated some of the most legendary swordsmen of the time.

Hands that had been almost hesitant to pick up one Zodiac stone after another. It wasn't because he feared the stone, but almost as if he was repulsed to touch something that could be so evil and cause so much suffering.

Hands that held Meliadoul as she cried after confronting her own father at St. Murond Temple. The truth finally catching up and crashing down around her as she realized what had happened to her father and what he had become.

Hands that delicately took a rose from the flower girl at Zarghidas and then handed it to her. Malak had been infuriated by the gesture, but later that night Rafa reassured him it meant nothing and the only reason he had given it to her was because she was the closest female standing to him. Even as she spoke the words she begged for them not to be true.

Hands she had seen clenched in anger and determination as he was forced to kill not one, but both of his brothers, but opened as he pleaded for his sister's life.

Rafa stood herself up. "Thank you, Ramza." In a rare moment of courage she looked up into Ramza's face.

She knew as she gazed into his hazel eyes that she, as well as the whole world, was safe in the hands of this heretic.


	6. More than a Mirror

**Chapter 6- More than a Mirror?**

Malak peered into the darkness surrounding him. He knew it was a exercise in futility; no one could see anything beyond the faint ring of light emitted by the campfire. However, he knew all too well the undead and other assorted creatures who lived, or as in the case of the undead- didn't live, in Yuguo Woods, so he looked out into the gloominess all the same. He knew better then anyone else here what kind of threat these woods held and he wasn't about to trust his or his sister's safety to anyone else. Plus he wasn't even tired.

_Funny how being dead for the better part of last night makes one well rested, _he thought rather grimly.

Malak's eyes flickered down to the mat that sat next to his. His sister lay there, her breaths regular as she was lost in sleep. A lump slowly develop in his throat, a strange mixture of emotions flooding him as he watched his sister sleep. They were emotions he wasn't altogether familiar with and emotions he didn't like at all.

His eyes left his sister and settled on the other side of the campfire. He stared at the visage of the blond on the other side. His jaw set, his teeth started to grind together as he continued to watch Ramza slumbered. The same incessant smile that was on his face when he was awake persisted even while he slept.

A new set of emotions filled Malak, and it was emotion he was more familiar with and knew how to handle, anger.

He knew he should feel grateful. He truly did. But he just couldn't find it. The last man he had felt gratitude towards was a man he would now have gladly killed, rather slowly, with his own hands. A task he had been robbed of.

_Falling to your death was too good for you. _

Malak shook his head, clearing his head of fantasies he would indulge in later. His eyes once again searched the grounds around their campfire.

_I can hardly wait for first light, _he thought, still unable to see anything in the moonless overcast summer night. _Then we'll get to Yardow_. Hardly a place he wanted to revisit any time soon.

He shook his head again this time to clear his mind of the thoughts that came unwanted, but it didn't help.

It had been all so surreal. His sister, the person he had come to know for speaking of some fictitious world in which people were mostly good and things always worked out for the best, had changed. She had changed. She was angry. She was saying the world wasn't such a nice place, something he fully believed. The duke was no father to them, something Malak couldn't accept. He continued to deny the facts he knew to be true. He was almost surprised his sister had the courage to call him out on it. He wasn't comfortable with that either.

He remembered looking down at the hand that had slapped his sister as if it belonged to someone else. It seemed like he was outside of his body, not even controlling it. He knew it was a cop out; he had been in control of his faculties. His sister was tearing down the world he lived in and he was going to fight her tooth and nail to keep it.

He didn't remember when the fight had taken on a killer intent, but it had and it pained him in ways he couldn't explain now. Not only was he not there to comfort his sister when she needed him the most, he was going to kill her! He had become part of her source of pain.

_I wasn't there, but someone else was._ Malak's anger flared again as he shot a look at the quietly sleeping man. Hoping maybe his looks could kill, but Ramza continued to sleep and breath quiet regularly. _He was there to comfort her, to protect her. To protect her from me! _

The last thought had lost none of his sting even though it had crossed his mind more than a dozen times before now.

Perhaps even just as galling was that Ramza had walked into what was so obviously a trap, to save his sister, with little concern for his own safety.

Malak at one time would have said he would do the same for his sister. Hell, hejumped in front of a bullet intended for her. However, some ideas started to become crystal clear as he bled to death. He hadn't been the brother he had always imagined himself to be; the one that protected her from the world. He hadn't even protected her from the monster they had called their father. He had turned a blind eye while she endured pain he could never comprehend. These revelations didn't just cut him to the core, instead it cut out his whole identity and left him an empty husk.

He had been given a second chance. He would become the brother she so desperately needed and deserved. A brother Ramza served as a constant reminder he had failed to be, but would strive to become. He would spend the rest of his life not only proving it to her, but also to himself.

xxx

Malak watched at the beautiful angel transform into a grotesque monster.

"I will...kill you!" It growled an oath. Its once soft and soothing voice which made you want to forget your sword and just sit and listen, was now gone. Now it was replaced with a low gravelly voice that also made you want to forget your sword, but now so you could run in the opposite direction.

The icy grip of fear tried to grasp at his heart, but before he could shake it off an explosion echoed over the motionless battlefield. It hit just shy of the demon. Alitma roared and reeled away from the unexpected attack. A faint glow of a foreign language lay etch to the air where the attack had landed.

Another explosion boomed out, this time it hitting its mark. The monster roared again, this time in pain. Several more explosions rolled out, each hitting its mark. Altima lurched back and forth as she was wracked with these attacks. She seemed to be trying to escape them, but was unable to do so. Soon silence enveloped the floating airship as the assault stopped.

The skeletal head whipped around looking for the source of the attack. It's eyes settled on Rafa as she lowered her hands after her spell. "You shall be the first to die!" it roared, pointing a sickly finger at his sister.

Somewhere in the melee the two of them had gotten separated. Now the span of the ship lay between him and his sister, with Altima the only thing between them.

"No you don't, you ugly bastard," Malak muttered darkly, watching the demon make its way to his sister. He brought up his Gokuu Rod after lowering it earlier thinking they had defeated their opponent. He pointed it at the gargantuan beast and charged.

Ramza, at Altima's flank, slowly inched away from Alma to intercept the beast. For a second Malak could see the conflict in his eyes. He wouldn't stand idly by, but he didn't want to leave his sister unprotected either. The look lasted less then a second then he started to sprinting towards the monster.

"You keep your sister safe," Malak snarled at him, continuing his charge. Ramza feet skidded across the wooden planks, his rush towards Altima halted. As Malak neared the back of the beast he slammed the rod between two planks of wood. The rod bent and then sent him vaulting towards Altima's back.

Malak landed on the small of Altima's back and held on for dear life. It either didn't notice or didn't care as it continued its advance on Rafa. Malak started climbing up the thing's back. With his free hand he pulled his dagger out of his belt and, with a savage swing, slammed it into Altima's neck.

The creature howled and rolled right, completely forgetting its old target. Malak continued to stab the dagger wherever he could reach from his precarious perch on the monster's back.

Several more hits to its neck. Each hit would have been enough to bring down a normal human.

A couple more dagger strikes to the right hand shoulders.

He turned his attention to the monster's sides and with all the precision of an assassin slipped the blade in between ribs and landed where the lungs would have been, if the monster did in fact have them. Instead of a flow of red blood from the wound, a black pus oozed from the cuts; dripping down its ghostly white, cold, scaly skin.

Altima flailed. Its skeletal hands trying to reach over its shoulders to grab this annoying insect.

Malak snickered. _I'm hiding on the place on your back you can never scratch, chocobo fucker. _ The laugh died on his lips and his blood ran cold as a clammy hand encircle his ankle. Malak was wrenched from his perch and was dangling upside down.

He vaguely heard the sounds of war around him, his comrades fighting the mountainous being. But Altima seemed to pay them no heed. Instead it lifted Malak until they looked into each other's eyes.

Although they were nothing but empty sockets, he couldn't help but feel malice radiating from the place were Altima's eyes should be. Altima started swinging him around.

Next thing he could sense he was headed towards the ship's deck at a high rate of velocity.

Pain shot through his body, but only for a moment, then blackness claimed him.


	7. More than Just Another Face

**Chapter 7- More than Just Another Face**

Meliadoul remembered the first time she'd seen his face. It was from a freshly minted wanted poster. The artist had outdone themselves, as per usual; their skill with a quill almost made her jealous. But such thoughts were a sin and were quickly banished. She recalled the scriptures talking of how the church was like a body, with many parts and each part having its own talent. Meliadoul's lay in the sword, not the quill.

Still it was hard not to be impressed that these artists could reproduce the same pictures dozens of times over without any visible difference between them.

She read…

_**Wanted**_

_**Ramza Beoulve **_

_**For crimes of heresy and murder**_

_**Bounty: 500,000 gil**_

The picture was what she had come to expect of pictures of heretics. The hard uncaring eyes that had a twinkle of madness in them. Brow furrowed together. Their jaw set, teeth clenched, mouth forming a frown. Though the heretic in question had a more soft rounded face, the artist seemed determined to give the criminal sharper, harder, more uncaring lines than the owner possessed. He had a mess of blond hair that, perhaps, had not been combed in weeks. Put all together it gave this Ramza Beoulve a rather menacing, if not slightly mad, look.

She looked at the poster for but a moment and then sat it down, quickly forgetting the face and the name of Ramza Beoulve.

xxx

The second time she thought of Ramza's face she was running through the streets of Bervenia Free City. She barely took note of the people she nearly knocked over as she pressed her way through the marketplace, nor the cries of the street vendors peddling their wares. All other senses were drowned out by the three word mantra that ran through her head: _It cannot be. It cannot be. It cannot be…_

_He wasn't even supposed to be in Riovanes_. But the thought did little to soothe her nerves as she slammed through the front door of the church. She hadn't planned on imparting as much force to the doors as she had, nonetheless, the sound echoed up and down the otherwise muted hallway.

A lone priest in the entryway jumped at the sound. He looked at her for a moment of shock, but quickly his features smoothed, becoming sympathetic as if he recognized who she was.

She didn't need his sympathy. "Where is he." Her voice sounded hollow to her ears, completely devoid of emotion.

The priest pointed west. Meliadoul's throat tightened even more. Even if she hadn't grown up in Bervenia, she knew what was to the west. Every church invariably had a similar layout to the Holy Temple in Murond. In the medical center of the church complex, the east was for births and healing. To the west was where bodies were prepared for burial.

The priest began to say something, but Meliadoul didn't wait for him to finish. She turned and walked to the west. Perhaps the priest followed her, but she didn't notice one way or another. Her whole being was consumed with her three-worded thought. She wouldn't permit another thought to enter her mind.

Meliadoul came to another door. This time she took more care as she opened it. The door emitted a low moan as it opened. Beyond the door was a darkened room; the only source of light was a handful of flickering candles giving it a palpable ominous aura. The light from outside the room cast her silhouette on a table and a body which was obscured by the white linen cloth covering it.

She stepped in. The darkness seemed to consume all noise. Not her boots against the stone, not her rasping breath, nor her metal bracers clinking from her hand shaking as she reached to pull back the white linen.

The enchantment shattered. Meliadoul's legs gave out from underneath her and her shin guards landed on the stone floor with a resounding crash. The sound reverberated off the walls of the small enclosed room. The three word mantra broke and was replaced by just one word. _NO!_

After being closed off her in her mind for so long, Meliadoul suddenly became painfully aware of her own body. Her hands clenched in fists, covering her eyes. Something wet rolled down her wrist. _Am I crying? _There was little doubt as her fingers continued to dampen. Soon her whole body shook wracked with sobs.

_No, _she thought; she tried to hold back the tears, _I have to be strong… for him. _This gave her strength as she fought for composure. She wiped away the tears from her eyes and face. Slowly she climbed to her feet and commanded them to hold her upright.

_S_he looked down at her brother. He must have been washed because looking at his face she was hard pressed to think he was anything but sleeping, but as she brushed his bangs away from his closed eyes her fingers grazed his skin and killed any such illusion.

She pulled her eyes away from her brother's face as she drew back the linen even further down. She felt herself go pale. She had seen many battle wounds, but none such as this. His armor and surcoat alike were shredded. His chest and abdomen was nothing more than a bloody mess.

She tore her eyes away from it to look at Izlude's face again. _What did they do to you, Izlude? _A new feeling entered her, not anguish, but pure unadulterated rage. His killer hadn't been content with just murdering him, they had mauled him, eviscerated him. Even after he had been unable to resist, to fight, they had desecrated his body.

Her hands balled into even tighter fist at her side. Her finger nails dug deep enough to draw blood from her palms. "Who did this?"

The priest standing at the door jumped at the sound of her voice. "No one knows." His words tripped over each other. "There are rumors, but…"

"Who did this?" The temperature in the room dropped as killer intent flooded the enclosed space.

"Ramza Beoulve."

xxx

Meliadoul sat a top a rotting log and stared across the fire at Ramza's face. Though she had come to accept that he was not her brother's murderer, she was still skeptical of him, and such hatred she had harbored for this man was not easily snuffed out.

His face looked nothing like his wanted picture. She had first noted when they had met face-to-face that day in Bervenia. Even from her rooftop perch she could tell the difference. There was nothing mad, dark, or menacing about Ramza. There was a subdued merriment about him, tempered with a indefinable sadness.

Meliadoul figured she shouldn't have been surprised by that. _They would have draw horns on him if it wouldn't complicate the identification process. _She mused.

Not that it really mattered. He could have had a face of an angel for all that she cared. It would not have slowed her blade as she ran him through.

Now she was traveling with him. She had agreed to be with him and his companions because she was truly curious, but she still had her lingering doubts. Ramza Beoulve had been a lot easier to understand when he had been a heretic; now she didn't know what to make of him.

"Why?"

Ramza's eyes left the fire and settled on her. His smile continued as he looked at her. She didn't know how he could smile at someone who would have gladly slit his throat just this morning. How could he be so forgiving and friendly? "Why what?" he asked.

"Why do you fight my father? Even before you knew of the demons, the plot, and everything else you still defied the church? Why?"

"I had to. Honor would dictate I do no less."

Meliadoul snorted. "Noble's honor. Is this the same honor that lets nobles fight wars using commoners as nothing more than tools? Wars fought at commoners' expense? Is it honor that allows them to dispose of the commoners after the war without so much as a 'thank you' little alone a gil in return? Does that honor dictate that they continue to live comfortably while their subjects suffer? Is it honor that allows them to turn a blind eye to their subjects' suffering?"

Ramza flinched back at the rebuttal. The smile flickered off momentarily and he looked down at the fire again. Meliadoul felt a pang of guilt. He really didn't deserve that; he hadn't claimed any title for over a year now. The only title he had was the one given to him by the church.

Old anger did not die easy, but it was little justification for lashing out at the man. She was glad that none of Ramza's compatriot had been around to see her lack of composure. Most were already dozing. She was just about to apologize but Ramza spoke first.

"Not every noble is blind to the suffering of commoners. Many nobles see the suffering…" Ramza eyes softened even more as they grew distant. "Some even feel it."

"Who do you see?" Meliadoul asked as Ramza's word drifted off.

"What." Ramza's eyes left the fire to meet her gaze again.

"When you said that your eyes grew distant. Whose face do you see? Your sister's?" _Does he really think what he's suffering with his sister's kidnapping in any way compares to what the commoners suffered?_

Ramza broke eye contact as he shook his head. "No, not my sister. Someone who was almost like a sister to me though."

Meliadoul could see the fire reflected off the tears that were slowly growing in his eyes. She realized she was skirting the edge of subjects she shouldn't broach; after all she had her own raw wounds she didn't want brought up either.

She looked back at the fire. She still didn't completely understand the man, but he had given her something to contemplate.

xxx

Meliadoul remembered the last time she'd seen Ramza's face. She'd watched as her father transformed from the man she had known into some hideous monster.

"Master, 'Bloody Angel'... Let me offer you 'blood' darker than wine and hotter than burning lava!" It spoke in a voice not her father's.

Something inside Meliadoul snapped. She snarled as she charged out of the back row of Ramza's formation and went straight towards her brother's killer. She could tell not a step or two behind her were the rest of her friends, but she was the first to reach her opponent.

She slammed Save the Queen into the monster. But it grabbed the blade with its bare hand and turned it aside. With its other paw it swiped its claws aiming at her midriff, but she blocked it with her shield. Soon her whole being was consumed by the dance of attack, counter-attack, parry, thrust, block. It took all her concentration to keep up with the flourish of movements by this lion-like beast. She knew her friends would be looking for a place to attack, but she didn't know where with the frenzy of movement by both herself and her opponent.

"Why," the monster spoke but it was not its voice, instead her father's. "Why do you choice to oppose me, my little Melly?"

The voice, the use of her nickname, made her fault for a but moment. But that was all the opening the Zodiac demon was looking for. The lion bared its teeth in a devilish grin as its claws ripped through Meliadoul's abdomen; her parrying sword coming just a moment to late.

She crumbled to the ground. She could see the boots of her companions as they surrounded her and protected her from her opponent. Slowly they beat it back and their feet disappeared from view except one pair of boots. She looked up so see Ramza kneeling next to her. He was frantically ruffling through his satchel. Melaidoul reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He looked at her, tears streaking down his face. "Please, Mel, don't…" His words choked off by more tears.

Mel summoned her fading energy to shake her head. _I'm already gone, Ramza. _

Her vision started to dim. Ramza's face slowly started to fade, but as it disappeared another slowly took its place.

xxx

Ramza's eyes tried to focus through his tears. He felt so helpless watching his friend die. He knew there was nothing he could do, but he felt he should try. But Meliadoul's grip on his arm stopped him from doing so, even as the grip loosened and the warmth faded from the limb.

Ramza had seen dozens of people die, more than he had ever wanted to see, both of companions and of enemies, but as he watched Meliadoul fade he saw something he had never seen before. Meliadoul was starting to smile. Soon her lips started moving. Her body was too weak to give voice to the word but Ramza could read her lips as well as any book.

_Izlude._

xxx

_A/N- As of right now that this is it for group of stories. Maybe some time down the road I'll go back and do some of the characters I skipped, but for right now it's finished. Thanks once again to Serial Ravist who made this jumbled mess readable. Also a very heartfelt thanks to the few reviewers I got. Thanks to all of you! _


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